


Hoth Landing

by TazWren



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, But not how you'd think, Crash Landing, F/M, Force Healing, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22048327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TazWren/pseuds/TazWren
Summary: Kylo Ren crashes on Hoth, while in pursuit of Rey, and knocks himself out. Except, that isn't who wakes up. Or is it?
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 17
Kudos: 45
Collections: House Cryber Holiday Cookie Exchange





	Hoth Landing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LonelyLavenderBones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyLavenderBones/gifts).



> I hope this meets the prompt and what you had in mind! 💙

The biting cold and the feeling of dampness on his face wakes him up. He's lying in a snowdrift for some reason, his limbs bent awkwardly under him. Scrambling up, ignoring the pain, he turns quickly to survey his surroundings and startles at the sight of burning wreckage. Some sort of a TIE, if his memory serves him right. And where there's a TIE, there has to be a pilot, he realizes with a chill. Somewhere. Everyone knows that. 

Looking around, more aware with every passing second, he catches a flash of black and slowly raises his arm to stare at it. His hands are encased in black leather gloves and he’s oddly dressed in something thick and ridged, like a knight’s surcoat, only all in unrelieved black. The same black as his leather pants and boots as well. He blinks for a long moment, wondering why he’s dressed that way. His hand drifts up to his nape, but there's no braid there. _Was this some sort of test that Uncle Luke's putting him through?_

Closing his eyes, he reaches out with his feelings, looking for any sign of what this is, and what he’s supposed to be doing. Whatever it is, he’s sure he can handle it. After all, he’s never failed at any of his master’s tests. Oddly, he can recall nothing leading up to this moment. _Maybe that’s part of the test?_

A sharp, urgent instinct pulls him towards the left where, rounding some rocks, he sees another wrecked ship, an unmarked one and a model he doesn't recognize. He thinks it may be Corellian, taking in its lines as he hurried forward to the canopy that is almost buried under the falling snow. Calling on the Force, he clears the canopy only to see that it’s cracked, possibly under the impact of a hot landing, if the melted slag under the fuselage is any indication. Knowing the odds of someone surviving such a crash are low, at best, he moves quickly, readying himself to see the worst. 

What he sees, instead, arrests him as his eyes widen and then drift slowly over the lean, delicate features of the girl lying in the mangled cockpit. There’s no blood to speak of, and the slow rise and fall of her chest, a detail that makes him blush even as he takes it in, assures him that she is breathing and alive. Of course he’s been this close to girls before, he’s even trained with them at temple. However, none of them have the haunting beauty that this girl has. Something in him is screaming that he _knows_ her, that she’s _important_ , that she’s important to _him_. Although, he’s sure he’s never seen her before - she’s impossible to forget.

He pauses in the process of gently lifting her limp body out of the wreckage - for the first time since waking up he’s feeling a little uncertain. This doesn’t feel like any test he’s been through before. It feels real - the feel of her body under his hands, even through the gloves, the creeping chill, the smell of ozone in the air. Suddenly, he’s feeling frantic at how stiff and unresponsive her limbs are. 

She’s inappropriately dressed for the weather, in a stained, dun-coloured, sleeveless tunic of sorts, with some wisps of gauzy cloth twisted, draped and tucked around her. The analytical part of his brain, which hasn’t quite shut up since he opened his eyes, can discern no practical purpose for those bits and dismisses them to the mystery of girls and their clothing. What’s more pressing is that he needs to get her someplace safe and make sure she stays warm.

He doesn’t question the imperative, just obeys it and scoops her out and into his arms before turning and limping away from the crashed ship. His eyes search their surroundings, already cataloguing where and what will be safe and can afford them shelter. 

Finding a likely spot, he gently lowers her to the ground while he looks for a way to dog through the snow. Unconsciously, his hand drifts to his belt where it curls around a long hilt. Pulling it from its tether, he stares at the saber hilt in his hand, a cross-shaped one with a red cable snaking down its length. He has no idea whose it is, he's never seen this one before. Thumbing the button set in the side, he jumps when it ignites with a harsh roar, the blade flaring a jagged and ugly red in his hands. 

Wide-eyed, he takes in the blazing length, not missing the two smaller vented blades along the cross-hilt. Whoever made this saber must have been very disturbed, very conflicted indeed. He's never seen one, though he'd read of blades that needed venting; blades with cracked kyber crystals, as damaged as their wielders. Why he has one hooked to his belt is beyond him, but he isn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, not when time was of the essence.

  
  


—

With a final brush of the Force, he smooths the snow he's packed around them in the cave he carved out of rock and snow. It should insulate them, he knows, but still he worries as he takes in the girl's still form and her rapidly-blueing lips. She needs heat, more than can be gotten from just sitting in an igloo.

_Too bad there isn’t a Tauntaun around._ He recalls his father telling him how he’d once slit the animal’s belly open to keep his uncle safe: _‘My ride was already a goner, may as well put it to good use. Besides, there was no way I was going to go skin-on-skin with Luke, kid.'_

His cheeks burn as he realizes that there is only one option, and there's no point in false modesty. Not when it's a matter of a life; _her_ life.

_Rey._

He doesn't know why, but he's suddenly sure that's her name and it feels unbearably dear to him. She needs to survive, whatever the cost, he _knows_ that.

Before he knows it he's stripping out of the surcoat and padded tunic, as well as the loosely-woven sweater he has on under it. No _wonder he hasn't been feeling the cold!_

He hesitates for a moment when he encounters a scar on his abdomen, tracing it in confusion before pushing it from his mind and quickly pulling his boots and pants off. Laying the clothes out on the ground, in as smooth a fashion as he can manage now that he can feel the chill climbing, he ignores his own nakedness as he swiftly and clinically peels Rey out of her clothes and pulls her close. Wrapping both their discarded clothes around them, he shivers as he feels the ice cold touch of her body. He pauses for a bare second before igniting the saber and laying it on the ground next to them, grateful for the crackle of heat from the cursed blade. He knows it will be short-lived, he can't keep it ignited for too long without risking their shelter, but just till he's sure she'll be okay, he promises himself as he tucks her under his chin and resolutely ignores the softness pressing against him. _She has to be okay, she has to live._

It occurs to him that this is not the way of the Jedi, but then he's always had trouble accepting it, even when he's been desperate to. Just so he can fit in and prove the voices in his head wrong, voices that seem to have fallen silent. From the moment he touched her, he realizes, looking down at his charge and wondering what power she holds over the source of his torment.

When he sees the pink creeping back into her lips and her cheeks, he breathes a prayer of thanks to the Maker and douses the blade. Then, with profound relief weakening his limbs, he lays back down and gathers her as close as he can before letting himself slip into the waiting darkness.

A light touch on his face wakes him and he opens his eyes to see Rey staring at him, her expression showing a mix of emotions he isn't sure he can name. Her hand ghosts over his brow, his cheek and then dips over his throat and chest, feather-light and brand-hot. When his breath hitches, her eyes zip back to his. Hazel-green with a tinge of brown, he realizes, as he maps the colours he can see in her irises. They remind him of Takodana, the thought causing an odd twist under his breastbone. 

"Ben," she breathes, her eyes still searching his as though she can't believe what she's seeing. 

When he nods, hesitantly, her hand cups his face and she smiles, a blaze of emotion suffusing her before she leans in and kisses him. Ben is transfixed, unsure of what to do and then instinct takes over, making him draw her closer with a hand cradling her neck as his arm bands around her. His eyes drift closed and gives himself over to her, falling into the heart of the supernova. 

He may not know what he's doing, but she doesn't seem to mind and so he touches and touches and touches and gives as much as she wants to take. The rush of fire in his veins, the breath in his lungs, the pounding of his heart - everything belongs to her. The only thing that matters in his world is her.

_Rey. Just Rey._

And when his world explodes, he's right there with her; spiralling, falling, finally feeling alive as they come together, like pieces that were always meant to fit.

Then, blinding white, the sharpness of pain and his universe goes black.

—

The wall of snow shifts, crumbles and then bursts outwards, leaving behind an opening large enough for one person to crawl out through. Rey slips out and stands for a moment, taking in her surroundings. A chill wind blows right through her and she's immediately glad that she thought to pull on Ben's discarded tunic before attempting to come out of the shelter he's built them. She'd taken care to ensure he was well wrapped and sleeping comfortably before her need to relieve herself became even more paramount.

Her business taken care of, Rey makes a circuit around the small clearing, trying to peer past the rocks at the rest of the snow-covered landscape. She shudders as she realizes how ill-equipped she is to deal with this weather system. _Thank the Maker Ben got to her when he did!_ If she'd remain passed out wherever she'd evidently crashed, then there was no telling what would have happened. 

As for what _had_ happened… the memory makes her smile inexplicably, shyness taking over as images and sensations flood her mind. It had been… _Ben_ had been all she'd always hoped for, dreamt about. He _had_ turned, he'd come to her when she'd been convinced he was chasing her across the galaxy for the wrong reasons. That he still held true to vision _he'd_ seen and wanted her turned to the dark side. 

A hand pressed to lips that are suddenly trembling, she turns to go back only stop when she sees that Ben has woken up and followed her out to stand at the entrance of their cave.

She can tell he's wary, alert, standing there completely dressed and gripping his lightsaber as he scans his surroundings. A burst of joy fills her and she doesn't bother to hold it in, letting it show on her face, in her feelings, in the Force. 

The man across the way tenses as he evidently feels the surge and his head whips around as his eyes find hers, unerringly. 

Her smile widens.

His eyes narrow.

As she steps forward he turns to face her, his body bending in a crouch.

She falters, her smile slipping as she takes in his darkening countenance.

"Ben?" She extends a hand to him, while also reaching out through the Force.

He snarls, throwing a hand up and wrapping the air around her throat. Stunned, she teeters on her toes, straining against his hold on her before breaking it with a swift twist of her mind.

Stumbling back a few steps, she stares at him, tears starting in her eyes as she realizes that _this_ is not the man she thought he was.

With a growl, he ignites the blade, spitting red and horrific, and stalks forward to level it at her.

His voice, when he speaks, is as cold and bitter as the wind howling around them, chilling her to her bones.

"Who are you?"

—x—

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> No, there are no more chapters, my story ends here. But if this sparks something and _you_ want to continue it, have at it and with pleasure! ♥️
> 
> Update: Ok, it appears I'm an idiot riddled with plunnies and I may need to write more after all! 😆
> 
>  **25.Feb A/N:**  
>  Y'all, am so sorry to keep you waiting on what happens next, but Life has been kicking me in the metaphorical nuts and I haven't had a moment to write. Whatever has been posted was pre-written, so am sure there's a lesson in there for me, somewhere 😉 
> 
> I'll see you soonly🤞🏼and thank you for reading! MTFBWY


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